


Clyde Logan One-Shots

by DandyAceInSpace



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Smut, Werewolf!Clyde
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyAceInSpace/pseuds/DandyAceInSpace
Summary: Oh-Adam asked: A new bar opens right in front of Clyde's. The reader is the owner. Jimmy convinces Clyde to go check the competition. He does. And also falls in love immediately. Shit.





	1. We're Fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh-Adam asked: A new bar opens right in front of Clyde's. The reader is the owner. Jimmy convinces Clyde to go check the competition. He does. And also falls in love immediately. Shit.

Clyde couldn’t take it anymore. It was a Friday night and he only had but a few patrons in the bar, most of them being regulars. Usually, his place would be filled to the brim with customers on Fridays, but a new bar across the street was the talk of the town. After the announcement of its grand opening in the papers, the population of his bar dwindled while the new one thrived.

The music was blaring from across the street and mixed in was the screams and laughter of its customers. Clyde was wiping down the counter when the last of his customers decided to head out, too annoyed by the noise. He thanked him and told them he understood why they were leaving, but on the inside, he was seething. Once they had left, Clyde angrily threw the washcloth down against the counter. It landed with a wet slap.

“Goddammit, that new place is ruining mah business!” He huffed, pacing back and forth behind the counter.

“Why don’t ya’ go an’ tell them to shut the hell up then?” Jimmy said, amused at his brother’s demeanor.

“I should. I really should. They ‘ave no right ta scare away mah customers,” Clyde grumbled as he grabbed the broom and began to sweep away non-existent dirt. Jimmy only laughed as he took a sip from his beer, and his brother glared at him.

They remained there in silence, Jimmy in amusement and Clyde brooding. The music continued to drift its way over and with each thump of the beat, Clyde’s anger rose. It rose until it couldn’t help but bubble over, breaking through his usual calm exterior. He slammed his fist against the island before storming towards the door, leaving Jimmy bewildered and behind.

He wasted no time in making his way over to your establishment. His strides were long and determined, people parting like the sea to let this man through. They spoke in hushed whispers as he passed, wondering who gave him the authority to ruin the mood. He paid them no attention as he stepped through the door.

The atmosphere to your bar was completely different. The lights cast a warm glow on the wooden interior. The chairs and booths were upholstered to be comfortable and not unforgiving like the wooden furniture at Duck Tape. Paintings lined the walls and the back corner housed glass doors that led to a large porch. This porch housed a stage where a band was currently playing, the reason for the obnoxiously loud music. Overall, your bar felt like a home away from home, a place where people could have fun without being judged.

Clyde found himself a little in awe at the place, but he quickly shook it from his mind, remembering what he came here for. He glanced around, spotting the bar off to the far right. He could see a bartender making drinks and hoped she could point him to the person in charge. Promptly marching over there, he found an unoccupied area and stood there as the bartender made her rounds.

Taking a closer look at the bartender, he sized up his competition, wondering how well she could prepare a martini. You had on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans that didn’t rise very high with a red short-sleeve flannel shirt, the ends of it tied in a knot underneath your breasts to expose the skin of your stomach and back. Most of the buttons were undone, exposing the skin of your cleavage as well. You were dancing and singing along to the song that the band was singing, as you blended together a frozen margarita.

Clyde couldn’t help but stare at you. You were so carefree and bursting with energy. After you deposit the margarita off to the woman who ordered it, you bounce up to Clyde with a bright smile.

“What can I get for ya’, big guy?” you asked, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed under your chest. The action pushed your cleavage farther up to the point it seemed like it would spill from the confines of your shirt. Clyde had to look away, with a faint blush, or else he would trip over his words. Any confidence he had when he first came over here melted away when he saw you. He tried to focus on your face, but your charming smile and innocent eyes were just as distracting as your body.

“I’m- uh, I want ta speak ta the owner a’ this bar,” he manages to stumble out.

“Present and speaking,” you say, running your fingers back through your hair, “Is there a problem?”

He bites his lip, trying to remember what he wants to say. You look at him quizzically, gesturing with your hand for him to spit it out.

“Your- Your music is scarin’ away mah customers,” he mumbles.

“Your customers?” You ask with a furrowed brow.

“I own the bar across the street, y’know, Duck Tape?” He’s genuinely confused now since both of your bars are the only two businesses on this road.

“Ohhh,” you drawl out, “How’d you get stuck with such a dingy place?”

“Stuck with-” He snaps his gaze to you, the anger-fueled confidence coming back to him, “That place is my pride and joy!”

You don’t back down nor challenge him. You just look at him with the biggest doe eyes, as if you hadn’t said anything wrong. You reach across the counter to place your hand upon his fake one.

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean anything by it. Hope I can be forgiven?” You say as you bite your bottom lip, looking Clyde up and down.

He hates the surge of excitement that courses through his body at your teasing, but he wants more of it at the same time. More of you. You had purposefully insulted him and yet were acting like the sweetest thing on Earth.

You were dangerous.

He retracts his hand from yours, turning on his heel, muttering. You bite back the giggles, calling out to him with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Hope to see you later, darling.”

A shiver runs up his spine and he turns to you, “Jus’… keep it down.” With that, he makes his way back over to Duck Tape.

Jimmy is still inside when he returns, still nursing the same beer. He turns to look at his brother, “So, how’d it go?”

Clyde sighs, locking the door and turning the sign over to say ‘closed.’

“We’re fucked.”


	2. Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is completely based off of Trixie Mattel's song Soldier. I incorporated the words into the dialogue so for the maximum experience, please listen to the song here: https://youtu.be/s8bUwyWBU4k
> 
> Also, listen to Trixie's other songs. She's pretty dope.

Clyde remains still on the couch as you walk through the door. Usually, he bounds up to you immediately and now he doesn't even say hello to you. You kick off your shoes and set your purse onto the shelving that's pushed up against the wall. He's staring at the television, but you can see that his mind is somewhere else. Tentatively, you sit down next to him and place your hand upon his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. His body tenses up as his head whips to face you. He's wide-eyed, but he relaxes once he can see it's only you.   
  
"Whatcha' thinkin' about?" You ask.   
  
"Weirdness seems to follow me wherever I go," he whispers.   
  
"Oh?" You're a little confused. Clyde's never been one for mysticism, he'd rather get to the point.   
  
"Think about it. Ma' whole family's cursed. What with Jimmy's leg and ma' arm..." He trails off, scratching the back of his head.   
  
You replace your hand with your chin, you arms tangling around his waist in a tired hug.    
  
You give him a weak smile, "Sometimes, weirdness seems to know me even better than I know myself. It feels like I'm someone else."   
  
His head tilts to the side as he looks at you.    
  
You look down to the ground for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh. "I mean, am I the one keeping time or is it keeping me instead?"   
  
As much as you wanted to cover him in kisses and whisper to him about how wonderful he is, you know that's not what he needs right now. Right now, he just needs you to talk so that he doesn't think. Your words didn't reassure him every time, but you were taking the time and effort to try and understand him. That was better than anybody had ever been to him before.   
  
You look to the clock that sits on top of the television. You didn't realize it was that late when you had gotten home. Clyde always got a little more depressed as the night wore on. Working the bar has helped greatly in his mood, but he still has his bad days.   
  
You place a small kiss on his cheek before standing up from the couch, "C'mon, let's go to bed."   
  
He nods once and turns his attention to the t.v. again. He looks over the screen for a few seconds before nodding his head again but with more confidence, "Yeah... yeah, let's sleep."   
  
You shut the t.v. off as you pass by it. Clyde follows you to the bedroom and climbs under the covers as you change clothes. You both fall asleep without much trouble, chest to chest and hands intertwined.   
  
The rest of the week follows normally. He still has his moments where he's zoning out. Sometimes he'll stare longingly down at his prosthetic and you know that he's reliving it all over. It's hard to watch, but there's not much you can do but support him when he comes back to reality.   
  
It's a Saturday night and you don't have to work tomorrow, so you decide you join Clyde at the bar. The door groans as you open it causing both patrons and Clyde to look your way. Clyde smiles at you as you approach the counter and sit on one of the stools.   
  
"And what are ya' doin' here lil' lady?" He teasingly asks you.   
  
"Well, I heard this place has the absolute hottest bartender, think you know who I'm looking for?" You answer him with a small grin.   
  
He just chuckles and shakes his head, "The usual, I s'pose?"   
  
"On the-"   
  
"Yes, on the rocks, I know darling," he cuts you with a smirk.   
  
You merely huff in annoyance. This makes him laugh again. God how you love his laugh and his smile. He doesn't take long to prepare the drink. Ater all, it is only a double of some scotch. He pours himself a single and leans against the bar towards you. You clink your glasses together and take the first sip together. Most of the patrons don't mind how he ignores them. They know you to be Clyde's girlfriend and know how long it's been since he's been this happy.   
  
You've been working long shifts recently, and with his hours at Duck Tape, you haven't seen each other enough to enjoy a conversation. Throughout the night, you realize how much you miss his voice. You miss his deep eyes, and the natural pout to his lips. You reach over the counter to gently scratch his chin, a used at how the hair to his beard curls around your fingers. He appreciates the gesture and leans into your touch.   
  
You spend the whole night talking and soon one scotch turns into two, and then three. By number three and a half, you're slurring your words and getting loud. You never said anything obscene. Mostly you gushed over Clyde, telling him he was handsome and how much you loved him. He would flush with embarrassment, urging you to be quiet as the patrons laughed at the cute scene in front of them.   
  
Clyde drives you home with you clinging to him the entire ride. Once in the warmth of your bed and the comfort of his embrace, you share a few sloppy kisses. You can't quite move your lips just right, so you look like a mess. Clyde urges you to sleep to which you whine at, but with sweet nothings whispered and a few more kisses than necessary, you're peacefully snoring in his arms not long after.   
  
The next morning you felt awful. Your head was spinning and your stomach was doing flips. The morning was spent kneeling on cold bathroom tile as you profusely vomited into the toilet. But Clyde was there, rubbing your back and keeping your hair out of the way.   
  
When it seems like your stomach is taking a break from its goal to destroy you, you whisper to him in between panted breaths, "Don't ever... let me... do that again."   
  
He laughs, "O' course, darling. Never again."    
  
One day after your bender, you still feel awful and call yourself off of work. You can't wait to spend the day cuddling with Clyde on the couch while you watch shitty reality television. Monday is the only day Clyde doesn't open the bar. It was your suggestion really. The man used to run it every day until you urged him that he needed a day to himself.   
  
You had fallen back asleep after your initial call to work. You woke up a few hours later to Clyde tossing and turning behind you. He was sweating and muttering underneath his breath. You gently place a hand on his chest and shake him, "Clyde...?"    
  
He doesn't wake up, instead he just keeps muttering and moving. So, you try a little harder this time. You take hold of his shoulder and shake it a little more forcefully, "Clyde!"   
  
He responds finally. He immediately sits up, his eyes searching frantically around the room as he pushes his hair back. He turns his attention to your hand and then to you, just staring at you with a worried gaze and labored breaths.   
  
"Clyde, honey, what's wrong?" You ask, scooting closer to him.   
  
He scoops you up into his lap where he then nuzzles his face into the connection point of your neck and shoulder. You move one hand to his hair, gently scratching at his scalp to calm him down. The other hand wraps around his back under his arm. He doesn't respond to you right away but what he says breaks your heart.   
  
"M'sorry, I had that dream again..."    
  
You know the dream. It's the same one that's haunted him for years. It doesn't do anything but replay one horrendous day over and over. The day he lost part of his forearm. He's described that day to you before. You can only imagine the scene, him in his camouflage gear as he feels relief to be heading home, only for it to be replaced with fear and survival.   
  
"M'sorry, I know it was a while ago but it still feels so real." He whispers against your skin.   
  
"That's okay, you take all the time you need to heal." You lean back to place a kiss on his forehead, his nose, and lastly, his lips. You look into his eyes as you rest your forehead against his.   
  
You wipe away a few tears, "Y'know, my mama had some of the best advice for emotions. She always said they were like poetry. Not all the words have to rhyme. If they do, that's fine, but if they don't, no one else has to know."   
  
Your words didn't reassure him every time, but during this moment, you knew exactly the right thing to say.   



	3. Lazy Morning - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested: Would you be able to write something with Clyde where reader and him are laying in bed on a lazy Sunday and they wake up to sunshine and kisses for one another and maybe some smut at the end if you’d like ;) thank you <3

The soft rays of the sun peek through the blinders of the bedroom window. The light is barely glowing, signaling the early hours of the morning. It’s a comfortable mix of shadow and light. You lift a hand to rub your eyes as you let out a quiet yawn.

The light drifts across the floor and fans itself across the pale skin of your lover’s back. His moles are illuminated and you find comfort in counting them, dragging your finger to each one.

He’s lying on his left side with his face resting on your chest. His body is nearly smothering you, but even with one leg and one arm free, you’re still trapped on his twin size mattress. Perhaps you’ll convince him to finally get a bigger bed someday, but for now, your content to have him as a human blanket.

His right arm is curled behind your shoulder blades, clinging to you protectively. The gentle rhythm of his breath ghosts across the skin not covered by your tank top. It leaves goosebumps in its wake and you can’t help but lean down to place a kiss on his temple.

His lips lift upward into a small smile. You feel his fingers twitch on your back and he curls into you, relishing in your warmth. He leaves a kiss on your collarbone before trailing a few up to your jaw.

“Did I wake you?” You ask as you push his hair out of his face.

“Nah.” He whispers, shifting in his spot so he can kiss you properly.

You share a quick kiss with him before you have to push him back. Your face is scrunched up in mock disgust.

“Morning breath…” You murmur.

He laughs a gorgeous sound that you could listen to forever. He kisses your lips again, his hand trailing from your shoulders down to your hip. His thumb rubs harmless circles against the bone as he fumbles to be on top of you, his knees on either side of your hips. He’s trailing his kisses back down your neck. The hem of your tank is pushed up, so that it bunches under your breasts, by his hand.

The kisses are now being placed on your stomach as he scoots further down the bed. You let out a soft groan, arching into the velvety touch of his lips. When he reaches the hem of your panties, he pauses to look up at you. You meet his gaze, biting your lower lip.

“I s’pose mah mouth is useful somewhere else then,” He smirks.

A shiver runs from your chest to your core and your toes curl in anticipation. He’s back to the task at hand, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them to some corner of your shared room.

“Clyde…” You breathlessly whisper.

He just looks up at you with that charming smile of his as he separates your legs, hooking each one over his shoulders. He dots kisses on your inner thighs, even carefully biting the delicate flesh of your thigh.

“Jus’ as beautiful as always,” he says with a mixture of lust and pride in his voice, “Always so beautiful fer me.”

“Clyde,” You whine into the warming air.

“Alright, alright,” He chuckles, “Jus’ relax and lemme take care a ya.”

He tentatively leans in to lick an agonizingly slow stripe through your folds, stopping at the top to place a chaste kiss to your clit. You lean your head back into the pillow, brows furrowed and mouth agape. Your breath hitches as he begins to suck on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. You instinctively try to draw your knees together at the overwhelming sensation, but broad shoulders and a hand at your hip keeps them firmly in place. Tangling a hand into his hair, your walls clench as he teases your entrance with his tongue.

He is nothing but smirks and snooty grins as he eats you out. He loves the expressions you make and the quiet, yet desperate, pleads he is able to draw out of you. In the refuge of his home, your home, he’s able to show you in a multitude of ways just how much he loves you. By far his favorite though is to taste you.

His hand slips from its grip on your hips so that he can slowly push a finger into you. You keen at the feeling, cherishing how much fuller his fingers make you feel versus your own. His mouth focuses again at your clit, toying with it as he adds a second finger into you. The pace his fingers keep is slow and torturous, but it stretches you in just the right way.

At times, the slowness of his ministrations gets to be too much. You squirm in place, wishing he would thrust into without a care in the world. But this time was meant to be slower, to be loving and to be gentle. To help ease you into waking up instead of the jump from an alarm. And nothing could make you want to stop this. His tongue is warm but his breath is cold, adding extra jolts to your pleasure as it coasts along your sex. His eyes are closed currently as he hones in on your climax. You know it’s close. The burning coil wounds itself in your lower abdomen and with his addition of a third finger, you’re teetering right on the edge.

You’re able to sneak your free hand down to his amputated arm. His prosthesis isn’t secured, it never is when he sleeps with you. You take a tender hold onto his forearm, giving him a reassuring squeeze like you would his hand. A few more nips at your clit, combined with the pressure of his large fingers, and your clenching around him. Your hips lift slightly off of the mattress as your back arches, mouth open as you moan his name shakily.

He doesn’t let any of your sweet cum go to waste. His fingers have left you and he’s licking his lips as he sits up from his spot. He crawls over you, carefully resting his weight against you with his arm propping him up, as you two share another kiss. Your hands reach up to cup each side of his face, pulling him back to your lips when he tries to break away.

When you finally let him go, he smiles down at you.

“Better?” He asks.

“Mmm, much better,” You hum in response before bringing him in for another kiss.

 


	4. Protector - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon Requested: Love your writing! What about something with Clyde where him and reader and close friends and when a guy is hitting on you at the bar Clyde steps in and tells him to back off which leads to the two of you confessing your love for one another and then some possessive smut ;)
> 
> TW: Harassment, Drunk Harasser, Non Consensual Touching, Cursing, Drinking

Every once in awhile you would meet his glance. It was hard not to, considering that he was seated almost directly across from you and had been staring you down for the better half of an hour. If you looked up, he was looking at you. If you left for the bathroom, his eyes followed your form as you walked away.

He was really starting to freak you out. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to approach you, yet. A whole bar, and an immensely tall bartender, stood between the two of you.

You watched the rivulets of condensation race down the bottle of your beer. They pooled onto the plastic coaster, saturating a ring into its decorative background. After years of dutiful service, the paper covering was starting to peel up, and the rings of water left crinkled bubbles in their wake.

At this point, you were too afraid to look up from the counter.

“Darlin’?” came the wondrous voice you knew so well.

You take the chance to look up. Clyde is standing there, blocking your view of the man. You breathe a sigh of relief. Clyde has a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, a side effect of the humid summer air and the lights in the bar. His hair is pushed back but the wavy strands still cover his ears. You’ve tried many times to convince him let you put his hair up in a bun, but he always declines, saying that he wouldn’t look good. The short hairs of his goatee and mustache curl in towards his skin, and you can make out a few that are lighter than the rest.

He leans against the bar counter, wiping sweat from his forehead. He crosses his arms over his chest and uses them to prop himself up. He’s looking down at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips taut with concern.

“Are ya alright? You’re unusually quiet today.” He tilts his head to the side, like a curious puppy.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, y’know?” You say with a nervous smile.

“I’ve known you for how long now? That tired bullshit isn’t gonna work on me.” He says, leaning in closer to you.

You’re able to smell the sweat that radiates from him. It’s a mixture of his cologne and booze, combined with an aroma that you can only describe as his own natural musk. You could never quite put a finger on the exact scents. The closest you had come to was the strength of coffee but the cleanliness of wild honeysuckle. It was absolutely intoxicating.

You let out a chuckle, “You do know me far too well.”

Brushing a stray piece of hair back into place, you stand on the rungs of the bar stool, aiming to peek over Clyde’s shoulder. Clyde gazes at you, perplexed. He goes to ask you what you’re doing but you shush him with a few waves of your hand.

For once, the man had seemed to finally stopped staring. But, almost as soon as you popped your head up, he looked over to your vicinity. You quickly land with a thud on the stool, huffing in annoyance.

“No, seriously, Y/N. What’s goin’ on?” He asks you again, but his tone is more urgent this time.

You let out an exasperated sigh. Leaning your elbows on the counter, you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands. “That guy behind you has been staring me down all night. It’s creepy.”

Clyde peers over his shoulder to get a good look at the man. “You want me to say somethin’?”

You shake your head. “No, he hasn’t said or done anything to me. For all I know, he could be watching the door,” you say with a shrug.

“Y/N. He has done somethin’ to ya. He’s made you uncomfortable, and I’ll be damned if you can’t enjoy yourself in my bar,” He assures you.

You shake your head again. “It’s okay, Clyde, really. Don’t scare the man.”

One of the other patrons calls for Clyde, begging for a refill. He stands up straight, pushing up the sleeves of his button down. “I’ll do him one worse if he touches you,” he mutters to himself before tending to the customer.

With a lukewarm beer in hand and a desperate need to feel better, you make your way over to the jukebox. Your legs are aching from sitting in one spot for so long and the short walk will do them some good.

You flip through the roster, eyeing each song and making a mental note of your favorites. Clyde always said that you could play your music without paying the seventy-five cent fee, and now felt like a good time to cash in on the offer. You’re about to solidify your choice on Shania Twain’s ‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman’ when a rough hand grips onto your left hip.

“Heeeeyyy,” the man drawls out. His breath reeks of gin and he’s leaning against you to support his own weight.

“I’m not interested,” you say sternly as you remove his hand from your waist.

“Aw, c’mon little baby, don’t be like that,” he slurs. His hand finds its way back to your waist but it slides farther down this time. He grabs your ass with a drunken smirk on his face.

You flush with embarrassment, immediately taking a step back and shoving him off of you. He doesn’t get the hint because he grabs your wrist and tries to pull you back to him. “I like it when they’re feisty,” he growls at you.

Tears are pricking the corners of your eyes. You shut them tight, feeling the droplets running down your cheek. Choking out a sob, you tense your body, preparing for wherever he wanted to touch you next.

You heard the snack of bone meeting bone, but felt no pain come afterwards. Come to think of it, there’s no longer a pressure around your wrist. You peer through cloudy eyes to see the man lying on the floor. He groans in pain as he holds his jaw.

Clyde towers over the man, eyes burning with fury, fist clenched at his side. His teeth are clenched and his chest heaving as he picks the man up by his collar. “Don’t ya ever fuckin’ lay a hand on her again,” he threatens, his voice dark and low. He drags the man by his collar across the wooden floor as the man wiggles in his grasp. You hear a few gasps as well as the clawing of the man’s shoes against the floor as you watch the scene before you. Clyde kicks the front door open and promptly throws your harasser out on his ass. “And don’t ya even fuckin’ think about coming back to my bar!” He shouts before slamming the door shut.

You’re frozen in your spot. Everything happened so fast and your brain is scrambling to put the pieces of the puzzle together. After dusting his hand off on his jeans, Clyde notices you haven’t moved an inch. He has to stop himself from running to you, but his pace is definitely fast.

“Y/N?” He asks quietly, placing his hand on your bare shoulder.

You forget where you are and the man who stands in front of you. When he touches your skin, you jump, taking a step back.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s me. Clyde. It’s going to be okay,” his voice is level and smooth, attempting to calm you down.

You shake your head, the scene coming back to reality. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you’re painfully aware of how tight your chest is. You meet Clyde’s gaze and the fire that was once there is replaced with something more concerned. He looks more helpless than you do, wanting to help console you but not knowing how.

You reach your hand up to wipe away your tears, sniffling loudly.

“Y/N…?” He asks, taking a small step towards you.

You close the gap, practically jumping into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you slightly. His prosthetic wraps around your back while his other hand gently strokes through your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his shoulder.

“I shoulda thrown him out sooner- I can’t believe I let him-,” he huffs. You can feel his anger building up again, so you hug him tighter to you. As much as you want Clyde to beat the man within an inch of his life, you don’t want him back in prison either.

“It’s okay, Clyde. He’s gone, let’s just focus on that right now,” you muster up a small smile.

Clyde looks to the front door and back to you before nodding. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Can I stay with you till closing time?” You ask, finally releasing your grip on him.

“Whatever you’d like,” He says with a caring smile.

Time passes and soon you find yourself alone in the bar with Clyde at 1AM. You sit together on the same side of a booth, sharing a beer and trading stories. He’s helped to soothe the fear in your heart from earlier and the lingering feeling of the man’s grip on you slowly fades.

You lean against Clyde’s shoulder and his arm is securely latched to your waist. His thumb rubs small circles into your hip bone as his chin rests on top of your head.

“Again, thank you, Clyde,” you confess, turning your body to face him, “I don’t what I’d do without you.”

“No need to thank me, darlin’. No woman deserves that, but I s’pose I’m extra protective of ya,” he says with a small smile.

“You always have been, haven’t you?” You teasingly ask. “Some might call it possessive.”

“Could you blame me? You’re amazin’ Y/N,” he whispers as he leans closer to you. The wonderful smell of his musk fills your nose again, and his tightening grip on your hip makes your heart swell. Your lips meet his and any previous stress melts away. He’s careful at first but once he sees you haven’t backed down, he allows himself to get a little carried away. He bites your lower lip, and when you moan in response, he’s quick to let his tongue invade your mouth.

You shuffle in the seat so that you can straddle his lap and his hand falls down to grip your thigh. You run one hand through his hair, the other cupping his cheek as he continues his assault on your lips. When you pull back for air, you admire the red tint and puffiness of his lips. He, however, is admiring the way your shirt is riding up your stomach and how small you look when you’re on his lap.

He gently squeezes your thigh before trailing the hand up to your ass and gives it a rough smack. His hand then rubs soothing circles into the stinging flesh as he whispers in your ear, “No one else is allowed to touch ya but me, ya got that, little one?”

“Clyde…” you whimper, grinding your hips down on his crotch. He bites his lower lip, trying to muffle a moan.

“God, ya don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs as he fumbles with the zipper to your shorts. You help him undo the button, ready to remove the article of clothing when he stops you. “As much as I’d love to feel your pretty cunt on me, I’d rather fuck you in my house, if you don’t mind,” he says in a low sultry voice that accentuates his Southern accent.

You merely nod, leaning against the edge of the able, hands propped up against it to keep it from digging into your back. Clyde’s hand pushes past the hem of your panties, finding your clit and focusing his ministrations there. Your toes curl in your shoes and your head falls back as your body builds up its pleasure.

“How’s that feel, little one?” He asks, a devious smirk playing on his lips.

“Ah! Clyde… shit,” you manage to pant out.

His fingers slide further down where he’s able to tease your entrance. He slides one finger in, setting a slow pace that has you writhing for more. Anytime you tried to buck your hips for more friction he would simply pull his hand away, making you chase your high. After a few moments, he adds a second finger, groaning at the feeling of your slick gushing onto his hand.

“God, do y’know how fucking bad I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?” He mutters, trying to keep himself in control.

“You… ah- you hide it well,” you comment. He adds a third and final finger to his repertoire, his thumb stretching back to massage circle into your clit. He feels you clenching around his fingers meanwhile you feel the sickly heat building up in your loins. You grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into the soft material of his shirt as you come undone on his fingers. He finally lets you rock your hips against his fingers, helping you to come down from an orgasm that has your legs trembling.

His fingers slip out from you and he doesn’t hesitate to bring them directly to his mouth. You watch him intently as he cleans your cum from his fingers. When he feels like he has every last drop on his tongue, he removes his fingers from his mouth and pulls you into another kiss. You’re happy to share the intimacy with him and you can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He helps you fasten your shorts back on and you slide off of his lap and out of the booth. You notice the hard bulge in his pants, and he’s already turned you around before you have the chance to take care of it.

“Not yet, little one,” he whispers as he pulls your back to his chest. His arm protectively rests against your stomach as he grinds his bulge into your ass.

“We still have to go to my house first.”


	5. Daddy Kink Sentence Starters - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12\. “Daddy bought you a new toy today. Let’s try it out.”

There are many layers to Clyde’s personality. Everyone knows that he’s the timider of the Logan siblings, soft and peaceful, despite his intimidating stature. His friends know him to be a bit of a jokester, muttering one-liners that you’ll miss in the blink of an eye. They always leave the group howling in laughter, slapping their legs and spilling their beers.

But  _ you _ , you know him to his very core. You know each curve and dip of his body, the slim curls of his hair, the freckles painted upon him by some divine entity. You know his fears, his joys, and all of the wishes he’s whispered to you in the night. You know how he hides his prosthesis behind his back when he’s anxious about its presence. He chews his bottom lip when he’s lost in thought, scratches his chin when he’s bored, his shoulders drop in relief when he’s with you. He’s a mystery to many, but he’s an open book to you.

So when you feel his hands resting uneasily on your hips and the distance in his kisses, you know something is wrong. You yield to him a few more starved kisses, hands running up his chest to hook lazily around his neck. Reluctantly separating from his lips, you press your forehead to his after a reassuring kiss on his nose.

“What’s wrong?” you ask with a slight tilt of your head.

You notice how his throat constricts as he swallows. His lips are twitching like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. His eyes are roaming over the features of your face, but they pause when they meet yours. He airs out a tired and exasperated sigh, his arms encompassing you in a tight hug as he hides his face in your neck.

“I can’t believe I thought I could do this,” he mumbles, his right hand rubbing small circles along your spine. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin, followed by a small smile. He knows you wore the perfume just for him.

For the first time in your relationship, you have no idea what he’s talking about. You’re at a lost, completely in the dark about his feelings.

You slide one hand up the back of his neck, tangling your fingers into the silken strands. You know this calms him down, so you lightly scratch his scalp.

“What’re you talking about, Clyde?” You whisper into his ear.

“It’s stupid, you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you?” You say, growing more concerned and confused by the second.

He leans back into the couch, his hands sliding with him so he can cradle your thighs. You watch as he takes a few more seconds to gather up his courage, and when he meets your gaze again, he has a confident gleam in his eyes.

**“Daddy bought you a new toy today. Let’s try it out.”**

Well… you certainly weren’t expecting that. It is undeniably hot, pairing with his smoky voice just perfectly. However, it is also undeniably _ hilarious _ . While you were the “bottom” per say, Clyde wasn’t someone you would call dominant. It sounded weird when it fell from his lips. Maybe had he been in a suit, dragging you away to a secluded room during a party, you knew you’d be soaked instantly. But alas, you’re together in his trailer, suit traded in for sweats and a Bob Seger shirt that you can’t remember the last time he washed.

You snort and have to bite your lip to keep your giggles at bay. His cheeks and ears turn bright red and his hands abandon your skin. He crosses his arms over his chest and he sets those cute lips into a pout.

“See! I knew you were gonna laugh at me!” He points with an accusatory finger.

You feel bad like you really did hurt his feelings. But his pout melts away revealing the fact that he’s smiling too. Then it turns into full-blown laughter. You’re clinging to each other, both in hysterically laughing. Thank god you live in a secluded area, or you’re sure there would be a noise complaint.

“It was stupid wasn’t it?” He asks as you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye.

“No, yes, sorta,” you pause to let out another giggle, “It would be sexy if I couldn’t smell the bacon on your breath.”

“And like ya ain’t had a problem with it before,” he teases.

He gently taps your legs, a signal that he needs to stand, “Alright, lemme up.”

“But Daddy,” you whimper, grinding your hips into his, “You said you got me a new toy! I wanna play!  _ Now! _ ”

He groans deep in his chest, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to recover from the way he calls you  _ brat _ .

 


	6. Who's A Good Boy? - NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's werewolf Clyde time!!
> 
> Written for formerly-anonhamster on Tumblr because I love her and she loves Clyde

“Clyde, baby, I’m home!” You shout over your shoulder as you lock the front door. You hear the thumping of his hurried footsteps, followed by a thud as he smacks into the wall from trying to clear the corner of the hallway too fast. The footsteps resume, growing closer until a pair of arms eagerly surround you. The force nearly pushes you into the door, but Clyde lifts you into the air before that can happen.

 

“I missed ya so much,” he hums into the crook of your neck.

 

“I was gone for only three hours!” You giggle, his facial hair tickling you as he spoke. With the full moon getting close, his beard is fuller and the gentle wisps of fur have begun to litter his cheeks.

 

He joins you in your giggles, nuzzling against your face with his cheek, “It was the longest three hours of my life, sweetheart.”

 

He sets you down on the ground, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. He goes to pull back but pauses, his hands falling to rest on your hips. “Wait,” he whispers, taking a soft sniff of your hair. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he drops to his knees to continue his search. He inhales the scent of your shirt as well as the fabric of your jeans on each thigh. He abruptly stands, looking down at you and pouting more so than his lips naturally did.

 

“Care to explain why ya smell like another man?” He gruffs out, bottom lip tightening as his anger rose.

 

Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him in confusion, “Another-  _another man_? What the hell are you talking about?”

 

He crosses his arms over his chest, stalking over to the couch and sitting down with a loud huff of annoyance. You swear that he’s like a child sometimes, pouting when he doesn’t get his way. You blame the temperament of his breed. While patient and affectionate, he’s also strong-willed, and it sometimes shows in the worst of ways.

 

You walk to the kitchen to quickly put away the groceries. Maybe letting him boil in his jealousy is not the best plan, but you have perishables that need to get in the fridge.

 

It's as you're setting soup cans into the cupboard that you catch the whiff of an unfamiliar cologne emanating from your shirt. Shit.

 

You join him on the couch, one hand on his thigh and the other on his shoulder. He remains stoic and keeps his gaze on the television, but you don’t miss the twitch of excitement his ears make.

 

“I forgot that I ran into someone from high school at the store. All we did was hug, and even then he was really sweaty and it was gross…” You grimace as you gently rub his inner thigh, loving the soft hints of fur peeking through his shorts.

 

You spot the small smirk that graces his lips as he uncrosses his arms. He wraps his good arm around your waist, hand sneaking its way down to your ass.

 

“M’sorry, baby, I jus’ love ya so much an smellin’ another man on ya jus’ brings out that…  _need_ to make sure others know it.” He punctuates the word with a squeeze to your rear.

 

You instinctively curl into his side, replacing the hand on his shoulder with your head, “I hope you know that no man could ever replace you.”

 

He easily pulls you into his lap, straddling his thighs though you barely cover the expanse of his legs. It was strange how big he was able to get during his times of transformation. It happened gradually. One day you came up to his collarbone in height, the next he’d have to pick you up just to share a kiss.

 

He bites his bottom lip, the beginnings of fangs poking out, as he looks you over for any signs of uncomfort. He never finds any and he never will. Not with you. “Can I, this once?” He asks with his ever-present pout, bringing literal meaning to the phrase ‘puppy dog eyes.’

 

You had discussed the idea of territorial marking before. Apparently, he could mark you with his pheromones in a number of ways. The cutest is when he nuzzles your face, leaving his - invisible to your nose - musk. The most sexually appealing, however, was the idea of him painting your skin in his cum. He told you that while not the most potent, it would get the point across should any other try to mate with you.

 

“Clyde, do you think you’d be able to really only do it just once?” You tease, cupping his cheek with the palm of his hand.

 

He whimpers a small, “No,” head hanging low.

 

You hate how much he’s able to pull at your heartstrings, but you also love how much his emotions swell in your chest. You can’t say no to him. With a sigh, you remove your shirt, leaving you in the plain white bra you chose to wore. Next, you undo the button and zipper to his cargo shorts. His breath hitches in this throat as he meets your gaze, eyes wide and hopeful though quickly darkening with lust. You lean in, pressing a gentle and testing kiss to his lips that he eagerly returns. You have to separate for a moment so he can raise his hips, allowing you to shimmy his clothes down enough for his cock to be free.

 

He’s half hard but quickly becomes fully erect with the help of your hand and the ideas running through his head. He groans deep within his chest as you continue to pump his shaft at a torturously slow pace.

 

“You have to promise to stay with me or I could get hurt, okay?” You whisper.

 

He nods, puffing his cheeks out as your thumb smears pre-cum around the tip. You grin, rewarding him with small fleeting kisses as your grip on his cock remains soft and barely there. Bringing your free hand to his lips, he happily parts them so that you may run two fingers along the damp muscle that is his tongue.

 

This something new, definitely strange, but neither of you hesitate in continuing. It’s rare that he lets you have his much control, so you cherish it while you can.

 

With your fingers damp with his saliva, you slip them past the hem of your shorts and circle the little bundle of nerves that rest there. He watches in awe as you work yourself up over him, yet still, manage to keep his nerves on fire with your hand.

 

He’s only able to keep a grip on your thigh, short fingernails lightly digging into your skin. He wants to touch you so bad, yet is afraid that the moment will stop if he moves. It’s tiresome, evident from the veins that bulge on his forearms as he maintains control over himself.

 

You’re moaning above him, rocking your hips along your fingers, causing obscene sounds that are heaven to Clyde’s sensitive ears. When you lock eyes, he licks his lips and you let out a breathy chuckle at his request. You gather your slick on your fingers before bringing back to his mouth, where he moans at your taste.

 

It must’ve awakened something primal in him because you watch the fur begin to condense along his body. The soft white fur is unexpected, given his natural dark brunette hair. You haven’t seen him fully transitioned before, only the days leading up to it. He refuses to let you see him when the moon is at its peak, knowing that it’s harder to ignore animalistic impulses. His fingernails grow longer, piercing your flesh. Blood pools at his fingertips, smearing it along the blemishes that already adorn your skin. You let out a hiss as you wince, fingers pulling out from his mouth before they have a chance to bleed too.

 

“Clyde, Clyde! Baby, stay with me!” You frantically request, reaching down to hold his hand. This is the reason why you were hesitant. You’re hurt but you thank the lucky stars that he wasn’t inside you when this happened.

 

He looks down at his hand, seeing the overgrowth of fur and claws. Your hand is nearly half the size of his. Human.  _Fragile_.

 

He shakes his head, taking in a few deep breaths to help calm down. You hum gently, some Dolly Parton song that you can’t remember the name of, to remind him that he’s here. That you’re here. That you’re both okay.

 

The fur fades back into his natural body hair, curling in thin dark strands along his skin. His nails shorten back to their original length, immensely short to compensate for the claws that appear. He meets your worried gaze, sweat gathering on your brow and lips parted as you take measured breaths.

 

“M’sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking as he quickly engulfs you in a hug.

 

You run your hand through his hair, scratching at his ears. “It’s okay, we’re okay.” You feel the cool drops of tears along your shoulder and your heart breaks at the whimper that follows. Rubbing soothing circles into his back, you shush him in comfort.

 

The best you can do is to get him to laugh, to help forget what just happened. You lean back, looking down at his dying arousal and let out another chuckle.

 

“But only good boys get to cum.”

 

He doesn’t laugh, but he smiles. Baby steps.


	7. Slice of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I became inspired by this Parks & Rec deleted scene: https://youtu.be/qgAaZA8OreQ

You hear the squeals of laughter echo from the living room. Mason, your eldest child at thirteen years, is currently chasing his younger sisters around the house. He waddles from leg to leg, purposefully slowing himself down as the girls fumble over each other to get out of the way. Avery, at a spunky eight years, easily can escape the pace of her brother. However, Evelyn is only five and still mastering the task of running. She tumbles to the ground, after tripping over a stuffed animal and you await the tears.

 

But, they never come. You leave the pot of noodles on the stove as you exit the kitchen to see why she didn’t call for you. Kneeling on the floor is your husband, your baby girl already cradled in his arms as he dries away her tears. He’s whispering to her, giggles bubbling from her lips from words you can’t hear.

 

You never thought you could ever love Clyde Logan more than you already do, but seeing him as a father, loving on kids that the two of you made, brings tears to your eyes and knocks the air from your lungs. Things don’t always work out, but you’d never trade your family for the world.

 

Evelyn is no longer crying, picking up the toy she tripped on and running it to her room at the suggestion by her father. As he stands from the floor, he tells the other two to go wash up before dinner. Both of them grumble as they drag their feet to the bathroom.

 

Clyde smiles at his kids, shaking his head before turning his attention to you. You avert your eyes from him, pretending like you weren’t watching as you make your way back into the kitchen. You hear him scoff, quickly padding into the kitchen after you.

 

You’re busy pouring the macaroni through a strainer in the sink when he wraps his arms around your waist. He rests his head on your shoulder and kisses your cheek, letting out a content hum afterward.

 

“Whatcha’ makin’?” He asks as you place the pot to the side.

 

“Just mac n’ cheese. Sorry that dinner is a little plain tonight, I’ve just been so tired recently,” you reply as you lean back into him, hands resting on the edge of the sink.

 

He chuckles, his good hand sliding to rest over your stomach, his thumb caressing the skin there. “You have every right to be tired, you’ve got another Logan growin’.”

 

You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers together. “Boy or girl?”

 

“Hmm… it’s a boy, I can feel it.” He says, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, “How many more months now?”

 

“Four until we find out the sex, seven until the due date,” you answer him. He groans in annoyance, already eager to be having his next kid in his hands.

 

“When should we tell the rest of the Logan Lot?”

 

You giggle at the new nickname for your squirrely kids. “Let’s wait until after the first trimester. It’s the riskiest time and I don’t want to tell them and then have something happen.”

 

He nods, squeezing you tight in a hug as he presses another kiss to your cheek.

 

You grab the pot and hand it to Clyde where he puts it back on the burner. “Speaking of the Logan Lot, where are those kids?” You ask as you pour the noodles from the strainer back into the pot. Clyde just shrugs before handing you the cutting board after you pointed to it.

 

You tilt the board, watching as the green florets from the broccoli tumble in and cover the noodles.

 

“Oh, I see, sneakin’ veggies into their food” Clyde accuses.

 

You set the board back on the counter, before pointing a spoon at him in your own accusatory manner. “Yes, because that’s what parenting is all about, helping your children,” you say as turn back to pour the packet of cheese into the pot, “through lies.”

 

Clyde laughs that oh so charming laugh, the one that makes you weak in the knees ever since you heard it on your first date.

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” he muses as he leans back against the counter, “And not just your children.”

 

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, ceasing the stirring of the mac n’ cheese as you look at him.

 

“I’ve been sneakin’ veggies into your waffles for years now, since way before we were married. You never notice.” He finishes off with a chuckle.

 

You purse your lips, whole body facing him now as you rest your hand on your hip. “  _What?_ ”

 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your syrup has seeds in it?”

 

“You told me that was normal in this state! That all your homemade syrup is like that!”

 

“Yeah… there’s no such thing.” He looks insanely smug, and you want to fling macaroni in his stupidly perfect face.

 

“I have literally never been angrier at anyone in my entire life! Walk away, Clyde!” You mock shout, holding your hand up as if to write him off.

 

“Baby, did you really think-”

 

“  **Walk away, Clyde!**  ” You shout louder this time, but you can’t help the smile that betrays your words.

 

He holds his hands up in defense as he leaves the kitchen. At the same time, your kids make their long-awaited appearance, and also make for perfect revenge.

 

“Children, attack your father!” You call to them. The girls are all too happy to begin tackling Clyde to the ground. You hear their sharp voices scream something about a tickle-monster before Clyde’s laughter bursts through their noise.

 

Mason instead walks into the kitchen, not after giving the scene before him a judging grimace. He walks up next to you, tapping on your arm as you finish stirring the noodles.

 

“Hey, uh, Mom?” He asks apprehensively.

 

“Yes, sweetie?”

 

“Avery, Evelyn, Dad, and me, all got you this.” He says as he hands you an envelope. It bulges in the center, and when you run your fingers over it, it feels solid.

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Clyde enter the kitchen with both girls, one in each arm. You glance at him and gesture to the envelope. He merely, shrugs but nods for you to open it.

 

So you do, pulling out a baby pink card along with a silver bracelet adorned with six colorful gems. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each stone correlates with the birth month of your kids. Four stones in the middle and the two ending ones are a matching shade of white to symbolize you and Clyde.

The card is simple, obviously chosen from the ‘mother’ section at the store. The poem inside is cheesy but you still tear up at the sight of the messy signatures of your kids. Avery and Evelyn took the liberty of drawing pictures of flowers and hearts on the opposite page of the poem. Below all the signatures is the slightly neater one of your husband, followed by his own little love note, saying he could have asked for a more perfect wife.

 

You hold both gifts to your chess as you try not to cry too hard. You’re able to mutter out a small thank you before you fail and become a sobbing mess. Mason is the first to hug you, followed by Clyde and the girls as they suffocate you in familial love. You’re blubbering into Clyde’s shirt as the chorus of ‘I love you’s surround you.

 

You never thought you could ever love Clyde Logan more than you already do, and you’d never be able to thank you enough for giving you this wonderful family.

 

* * *

Bonus ending!!

 

After all the dishes had been cleaned up and put in the sink, the kids abandoned to their rooms to do homework.

 

You and Clyde, however, stayed in the living room to enjoy some quiet cuddling. Sitting on his lap, your fiddle with the bracelet on your wrist, admiring it in the soft light.

 

“Do ya like it?” He whispers against the back of your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

 

“I love it,” you whisper back, “Though I am curious. How much did the kids actually contribute?” You ask with a small smirk.

 

Clyde huffs. “Not a damn cent.”


	8. Clyde Picks Up Reader After A Car Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon Requested: for the prompts could you do Clyde picking the reader up after a car accident? She’s okay, they’re just both shaken up because west virginia winding roads are scary. (Also just got in one and totaled my car and a telephone pole, but came out with just some scrapes, wished I had some Clyde to care for me after! Thank you!!!)

Your body was pulsating with pure shock as you stared at the wheel in front of you. Letting out a shaky sigh, you peel your hands from the wheel, dropping your face into them with a loud sob. 

 

As far as you could tell, you weren’t hurt. A headache no doubt from whiplash and pain in your back was all you could feel wrong. Truly, it was a blessing that you didn’t end up rolling your car as you wound down the curvy mountainside roads. You took them slow, feeling each bump and dip of the unpaved trail. You just weren’t expecting the family of deer to make their daring voyage across the road. 

 

One or two deer is manageable, only needing to take a jolting break to avoid damages. Yet your headlights couldn’t pick up the silhouettes of the younger two deer, and you ended up swerving to avoid them. Your right two tires were currently slanted against the hill of the road, small trees broken underneath them. 

 

Yes, a very minor accident. If you could even call it that. Yet it is dark, and you’re in unfamiliar territory with absolutely no cell phone service should anything happen. The idea of what would have happened should the worst have gone wrong, that’s the scariest part of it all.

 

You shut the engine off, sliding your seat back as you rest your body against it. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath in and let it go. With you nerves calm, you suppose it’s best to make sure your car suffered no injuries as well. You unbuckle the seatbelt and lean over to the glove compartment, taking out the small flashlight stashed there. You pat your thigh, checking for the bulge of the knife in your pocket before slipping out of the car.

 

You start at your driver’s side door, working around the hood and passenger side. It’s as your nearing the trunk that you spot headlights coming down the road behind you. Hopefully, they’ll just pass you by and let you be. But, they slow down and stop just next to your car, hearing the faint whir of the window opening. Your hand instinctively slides to your pocket, just in case.

 

“Are ya okay?” Came a soft yet deep voice. “Are ya hurt?”

 

“No,” you say through a nervous laugh, “Just spooked by some deer. I’m not used to these roads.”

 

You try to catch a glimpse of the man, but the darkness is too overwhelming to make out too many defining features. Opting out of shining your flashlight in his face and coming off rude, you sigh as you look down at your car.

 

“There’s a gas station at the bottom of the mountain if you’d like me to lead the way?”

 

“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” you call to him. With a hand still gripping at your pocket, you round back to your driver’s door. 

 

The ride down is uneventful, thankfully. And even better, the gas station is open and you have full bars. Parking with one spot between your cars, you hop out, ready to officially thank your small savior. You hear the slam of his door and watch as he rounds the hood over to you.

 

It takes some inner strength not to gawk at him. He wears a band tee shirt and blue jeans, both that fit snugly against his form. He towers over you, with untamed hair and a trimmed goatee. You see the faint slip of metal that hangs around his neck and hides the charm under his shirt, yet the jingle it makes let’s you know that it’s a dog tag.

 

He’s intimidating to say the least. Everything about him screamed born and raised West Virginian, yet he has a kind and distant look in his eyes. You wonder if he could really ever hurt anyone. 

 

“Again, thank you, I appreciate the help,” you say after collecting your thoughts from the gutter.

 

He smiles, and god damn if you don’t melt on the spot. 

 

“It’s no problem. I wouldn’t feel right leaving such a pretty girl alone like that.” He blushes as he leans against his truck, tucking one hand into his pocket.

 

“Do you have a name? Or would you prefer I call you ‘my hero’?” You joke, feeling the last of your tension drift away.

 

“It’s Clyde, and you can call me anytime.”

 


End file.
